Wishing the Unknown
by Saran VD
Summary: A terminally ill girl, Mandi, is granted her wish to go to Pandora, and gets far more than she ever bargained for.  OC Centric; takes place during the movie.  Rated for thematic material and implied violence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this is one of those ideas that won't go away. I had to write it. And I don't think it's been done before, either, which makes me really excited. :)**

**All characters are not mine except for Mandi, Kendra, Evan, and Dr. Hayes. They belong to me.**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…**

Wishing the Unknown

_Chapter 1_

"_Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it." ~Winston Churchill_

* * *

When my mother, Kendra Voclain, was seven months pregnant with me, she got in an accident.

She and my father, Evan, were living in a posh, but small, apartment in San Francisco. The city itself was a wreck, all smog and ruins, but they remained there. The apartment had been provided for my family by the RDA, who my father worked for. He's a high-ranking official in the company, in charge of their public relations department.

Anyway, my mother was in a cab, driving through the streets of the city, returning home after a visit to the doctor. Dr. Luke Hayes had just determined that both she and the child she carried were in good health. Mother was delighted, smiling and singing some little song under her breath.

That was when the truck hit.

The truck carried precious cargo: some of the last remaining fossil fuel supplies. A few remaining lumps of low-burning lignite coal. In a small metal jug, the last drops of crude oil from a well 300 miles off the coast of Florida. A few small tanks of liquefied natural gas. Enough power to light and heat a small studio apartment for maybe six hours. All in a large, old-fashioned pickup truck, driven by a man who'd had way too much to drink before getting behind the wheel.

The truck had been going about 70 miles per hour, the police estimated, when it collided head-on with my mother's cab. The two vehicles then spun out of control and into a small, wooden shack that had been home to a family of five. The family and both drivers were killed instantly. The cargo fell out of the back of the pickup truck. The jug of oil cracked open, leaking petroleum onto the ground. The coal scattered across the floor. The natural gas tanks ruptured, allowing the liquid to spill out. And the truck itself caught fire.

Only my mother was left alive at the scene, screaming with pain and fear, trapped by one of the cab doors, which had crushed her. The fire spread from the truck quickly, thanks to the large amounts of fuel that littered the ground. As fires flared up around her, she was forced to inhale noxious gasses, and it was later discovered that, somehow, some had entered her bloodstream as well.

The emergency crews arrived only five minutes after the initial collision, and already the entire house was engulfed in flames. Somehow, Mother was still conscious and screaming, and the emergency crews managed to dig her out.

They had barely gotten her out of the cab when they discovered she wasn't screaming entirely from the crash. The stress of the accident had caused her to go into labor two months early, and the baby was coming fast. They barely had time to get her into the ambulance before I was born, a two pound three ounce girl. My screams, I was told, were so high and shrill that the doctors were worried something was wrong with my throat. The ambulance doors had been open the whole time, for there weren't hands to spare. Mother's injuries were too severe to be ignored, and my birth was too quick for them to allow for anyone to close the door. So the first air I inhaled was coated with the smoke and stench of the crash and the fossil fuels. With the immediate crisis averted, the nurses now swung the heavy doors closed, preventing any more of the smoke from entering.

One of the nurses wrapped me in a towel and tried to secure an oxygen mask to my face, which was smaller than the mask was. I was born after 29 weeks of pregnancy, which meant I was at risk for problems. Combine that with the stress of the accident, and I'm pretty sure the doctors didn't expect me to survive.

But survive I did. Placed in an in incubator, IVs in my veins, I fought for the life that I so deserved to win. Mother, too, fought against the severe burns and crushed legs that tried to defeat her.

Father showed up at the hospital almost as soon as we had arrived there. He waited for hours, pacing in the lobby, until he was allowed to see his family. And even then, he wasn't permitted to see me. That wasn't allowed for another two days, and when it happened, he had to wear a surgical mask, sterile gown and gloves. He couldn't hold me. Instead, he reached in through the flaps of the incubator and caressed my cheek. I was told that, when I felt my father's touch for the first time, I wiggled towards him and put my hand on his. He likes to think it was because I knew it was him. But _my_ theory is a bit harsher. I was so starved for human contact that his affection was akin to an oasis in the desert. The doctors and nurses had touched me, sure, but none of them with as much love as Father. It was then that I was finally given my name: Mandi Voclain, after my paternal grandmother.

Mother was released from the hospital after three weeks, with casts on her legs and scars on her hands, face, and arms. I, on the other hand, still needed close observation by the doctors for another month and a half. When mother returned to have her casts removed, she was told that it was unlikely her leg muscles and nerves would ever work properly again without expensive surgery. Father's job for the RDA paid him very well, and he could afford it, but Mother refused. She said she didn't want to forget what had happened, and she didn't want anyone else to forget it either.

You see, Mother had this obsession with teaching people things. I don't mean things like reading, writing and arithmetic, either. I mean things like morals and other such valuable life lessons. She was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, but she used the chair, and the questions she received because of it, to lecture people on how important it is to be careful driving, and how bad alcohol is, and why we should be glad that the RDA is mining unobtanium on Pandora instead of the dangerous chemicals our ancestors used here.

Yes, my mother used her injury to spread propaganda. So what? She couldn't get a job herself anymore, and her husband _did_ work for the RDA.

They took me home directly after mother's casts were removed. We lived in relative happiness for a few months until, one Friday evening, Father noticed that I wasn't moving normally. My movements, rather than being fluid and easy, were labored and jerky. What's worse, Mother was having the same problems, but to a lesser degree than I was. Panicked, he rushed us to the hospital.

They kept us there for observation overnight. But this time, I was in a little crib in Mother's room, and she was able to feed and care for me herself.

The next morning, I had difficulty swallowing as Mother attempted to breastfeed me. And Mother couldn't stop shaking. The nurses drew blood from us, checked our vitals, and left, adding that the results of the blood test would be ready in a week or so. If we weren't any worse by the evening, we'd be able to leave and wait for the results at home.

Evening came, and Mother and I were in the same condition, so we were sent home. However, by the following Wednesday, Mother's tremors were so bad she could barely function by herself, and now my breathing was labored as well. Father, terrified, once more rushed us to the ER.

The nurses gave us IVs and oxygen, still allowing me to be in a crib in Mother's room. Thursday morning, much to Mother's surprise, Dr. Luke Hayes, her obstetrician, walked into the room with Father and our nurses. He held a piece of paper and wore a grim expression. Father sat beside Mother on her bed, where she sat upright, pale-faced and holding me close. I was sound asleep, breathing easily, thanks to the oxygen. While the nurses looked on, Dr. Hayes sat on the end of her bed and gave her the news that would change everything.

The smoke from the fire, with its potent mix of chemicals, had a permanent effect on our immune systems. Both Mother and I had white blood cells that were, slowly but surely, dying off, one by one. There were medicines to control it, like with HIV, but it couldn't be stopped. Our problems now were due to an uncommon illness. The only reason we caught the disease in the first place, Dr. Hayes said, was because of our weak immune systems. The illness itself could be treated, but there would be more. There would always be more.

And, as if that wasn't enough, there was one final blow. I was a preemie. I was already vulnerable to sickness, which could explain why the doctor's hadn't noticed the weakness while I was in the incubator. The weakness was sure to affect me worse than it did Mother. He didn't expect that I'd live past age 6 or 7.

Whenever Father tells me this story, his voice gets choked up and he rushes through the aftermath of the announcement. How Mother lost all her joy in the world. How she stopped speaking to Father, stopped coddling me, stopped lecturing innocent citizens. How she simply took her pills and sat and stared out the window at the smog and people below.

She wasn't really there anymore after that, he says. She didn't blink when I learned to walk, or when I said my first word ("Medin," my babyish pronunciation of "medicine," when Father almost forgot to include one of my pills with dinner). She just sat by her window. She slept there, ate there, drank there. It took all of my father's effort to get her to use a bathroom. She rarely bathed. She never left the house.

I was four years old when Mother finally threw a heavy metal vase at the window.

Father was in a right state when that happened. Earth's air, especially in cities as large as this one, was already poisonous, and that was for healthy people. He ran out of the bedroom with me as fast as he could, securing an Exopack to my face before running back to the bedroom and wheeling Mother out of there. He slammed the door shut and yelled at her. Even though I was young at the time, I still remember the fight that followed.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

She said nothing.

"Do you want to get yourself killed? Get our daughter killed? You still have something to live for, Kendra! You have me, you have Mandi, you'd have your friends if you'd ever just let them come see you."

Then, she spoke the only four words she'd say in her defense. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Father yelled at her for another fifteen minutes at least, using words I didn't understand at the time. Now that I do, I'm appalled that he ever said such cruel things. But when he felt Mother had been sufficiently scolded, had the window repaired and the house decontaminated. We wore Exopacks in our home for two weeks following the accident. The air didn't do anything to me, but Mother got terribly ill. Now I think that was her goal the whole time, but then I was worried about her. At four years old, I didn't understand why Mother had gotten so sick that I wasn't allowed to touch her. I had to say my final farewell to her through a protective plastic suit so that I wouldn't get sick as well.

We buried her exactly three weeks after she broke the window. Her gravestone reads, "Kendra Voclain. Beloved wife to Evan, loving mother to Mandi." This is followed by a quote. "To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."

As far as I'm concerned, the gravestone's inscription is a lie. Mother is dead. She has been dead to me since I was four months old.

* * *

After that, Father dove into his work with a horrifying sort of fury. His work seems to have paid off; he was promoted to Vice-President of the RDA within a year of Mother's death. When I was six, he paid Dr. Hayes to quit his job as an obstetrician and work for him as a live-in doctor of sorts. Dr. Hayes agreed. He sleeps on a cot in the living room, but he doesn't seem to mind. As for me, I love it. Dr. Hayes is always there when I need him. Father isn't.

I lived beyond Dr. Hayes's original expectations for me, celebrating my seventh and eighth birthdays without any major problems. As far as Dr. Hayes is concerned, it's a miracle. But all Father sees is the weakness. Its hold on me is increasing all the time, to the point where I need what looks like SCUBA gear to go outside safely. A full face mask, a purified oxygen tank, the whole nine yards. A single pathogen could be the end of my life. I think Father is afraid of the pain of losing me to death.

Not me. I accepted my fate long ago. I've already told Father and Dr. Hayes what I want my funeral to be like. I've picked out my casket. I even told Dr. Hayes what I want inscribed on my gravestone, after my name and the dates and all that rubbish about my family. It's a quote from a series of books by J.K Rowling. They're hundreds of years old, sure, but they've been published many times over, and they were my favorites as a child. Dr. Hayes has read them to me more times than either of us can count.

"When I'm gone," I had told him on one cold December day, "that's what I want on my gravestone."

We were sitting together, curled up on his cot, reading _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ for the umpteenth time.

"What?" he asked, looking up from the pages he'd been reading.

"'To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,'" I recited. "I want that on my gravestone."

Dr. Hayes let out a nervous chuckle. "Don't let your father hear you talking like that."

"I won't."

He agreed, then, to my request. I had been thirteen years old.

* * *

Today is my seventeenth birthday. Father is at work, just like any other day. Dr. Hayes is here, though, bustling about in our kitchen as he tries to make something delicious out of the RDA's algae. I'm seated on his cot, my thin legs curled under me, wrapped tightly in a wool blanket. As Dr. Hayes cooks, he tells me tales of the olden days, when there were so many different kinds of food a person could live a lifetime and not try even half of them. The stories make me smile. They remind me that things weren't always like this. That, once upon a time, Earth was as beautiful as the TV specials about Pandora that bring me so much joy.

Along with Dr. Hayes and my books, the television has been my constant companion. I've seen everything, I think. War documentaries, news reports, movies both old and new and- my favorite- tales of Pandora.

The planet seems almost mythical to me. I want to believe that something so wonderful is real, that it actually exists, but I don't dare. And even if it did, I know, I wouldn't last a day there. The reports are very clear that Pandora is dangerous and deadly. It's probably even worse for a half-dead girl like me.

But it's my greatest wish in the world to go there. On television, they tell tales of avatar drivers. They're scientists that are linked to a body made of a mixture of the DNA of themselves and the natives of Pandora, the Na'vi. They show Dr. Grace Augustine, the head of the program, in her avatar body, taking samples of plants as she passes them. The reporters, I'm sure, are trying to make her look like she's crazy, some kind of wild woman. But all I see is the beauty of the place, the freedom of her avatar body. Dr. Hayes often teases me by saying I'm a little in love with her. And he's right, but not in the way he expects. Dr. Augustine, to me, is a role model. I want to be like her: just as free, just as happy. But I can't be. The weakness won't allow it.

Dr. Hayes gives up on the algae. "We'll just eat it as usual tonight," he says with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes that makes me giggle. He smiles at my laughter. "I have a present for you," he says to me. He sits beside me on the cot and reaches under his mattress. After a couple of seconds, he pulls out a manila envelope. "Happy Birthday, Mandi."

I take the envelope and open it. My slender fingers easily reach into it and grab the single sheet of paper it contains. I look at Dr. Hayes in puzzlement.

"Read it," he urges me.

I obey and read the paper. It's a short, official-looking letter, addressed to Dr. Hayes. But he gave it to me, so I read it.

_Dear Dr. Hayes,_

_We have received your application for your patient, Mandi Voclain, and would like to inform you that we have decided to grant her wish. A representative will be arriving at your place of residence on March 15__th__, 2147, to interview you both, along with her father, at seven PM. Please make sure you are available at this time. If you need to change the date or time of your interview, please contact us at (254)-967-8023._

_We look forward to meeting the three of you on March 15__th__._

_Sincerely,_

_Logan Tribling  
Associate Director of Wishes, Wishing Star Organization_

I stare at the letter, confused. I never made a request for a wish. I never told Dr. Hayes what my deepest desire was. The Wishing Star Organization was one of the few wish-granting organizations that hadn't gone bankrupt in the last fifty years. It specialized in teenagers who had been sick for their entire lives. The requirements were complex. For example, the illness couldn't be caused by the intentional actions of the wisher, their parents or any other family members. The wisher had to have surpassed the expectations of survival that doctors had given them. And the wisher needed to have a wish so big and bold, most people would laugh it off.

What had Dr. Hayes told them?

I reread the letter, my eyes resting on the date of the interview. March 15, 2147. My heart jumps as I realize that today is March 15, 2147. And it's already 5:30.

I stare at Dr. Hayes, astonishment plain on my face. "But… the interview is _today_!" I say to him, at loss of anything else to say.

He smiles at me. "Do you like it?"

"What did you say my wish was?" I ask him.

"To go to Pandora," he replies frankly. "I told them you didn't care if you didn't live to see Earth again. You wanted to see Pandora before you died. That wasn't wrong, was it?"

No, I want to tell him, no, that was exactly right. Pandora was the only want I had that I'd believed to be unreachable. And now Dr. Hayes had made it possible. I want to scream with delight and tell him what this means to me, but I don't have enough words to explain it. So I fling my arms around his neck, giving him the tightest hug my frail arms can manage.

He hugs me back, and I know I've said all that I need to. For good measure, I add, in perfect Na'vi, "_Irayo_."

He pulls away from the hug. "Where did you learn that?" he asks.

I grin at him. "Father was a bit careless about where he left his Na'vi language guides."

"And _why_ does your father have Na'vi language guides?"

I sigh. Dr. Hayes should know this by now. Then I remember that he pays more attention to me than to Father's work, and I'm nothing but grateful once more. "Every RDA employee gets one," I reply. "Father left his lying around, so I nicked it. He doesn't use it, anyway. He's not going to Pandora any time soon."

Dr. Hayes chuckles and nods. "That is true. But you didn't know you were going, either. So why did you steal his book?"

"Because I thought that, if I could talk like them, I could pretend I was there."

"You don't have to pretend anymore," says Dr. Hayes after a slight pause, failing to hide that my comment has shaken him. "You'll be there before you even know it."

* * *

**A/N: Reviews, comments, and (respectful!) constructive criticism are all welcome!**

**GLOSSARY:**

**_Irayo_: Thank you.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Updating a bit quickly? Maybe, but I want to write this while I have it all fresh in my mind. Thanks to all of the reviewers. Your positive feedback brightens my email inbox!**

**Mandi, Dr. Hayes, Logan, Alicia, and Evan are my only characters. Everything about Pandora or canon characters mentioned here is from either the movie or the Avatar Wiki. **

**Reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed and encouraged!**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

Wishing the Unknown

_Chapter 2_

"_What I wanted most for my daughter was that she be able to soar confidently in her own sky, whatever that may be." ~Helen Claes_

* * *

"So, it's your last day on Earth," says Dr. Hayes from his spot beside me on the couch. "What do you want to do with it?"

Over a year has passed since Mr. Logan Tribling had come to my family's apartment to interview us. Much has changed. My health has continued to deteriorate, though that's only to be expected. Dr. Hayes has become more solemn and less of the jokester I've grown up with. The biggest change, though, is Father.

It seems as if Wishing Star has given him some of his old spark back. He is bold and present. He comes home from work earlier. Perhaps the best change, in my opinion, is that he doesn't let the weakness run his life anymore.

Father was just as liberated by the wish as I was, but we both have different reasons. He thinks that the wish is the only thing that has ever made me happy, and I don't have the heart to correct him. Even if I did, he wouldn't believe me. A sick person, as far as he's concerned, is a miserable person. Considering what happened to Mother, his thoughts make sense, but they aren't true for me.

Finding joy has never been a difficult thing for me. The weakness has made me grateful for the small things: a ray of sunlight that bursts through a window, a phone call from a relative I didn't even know I had, a hug at the end of a hard day. These are the kinds of things that have brought me the most pleasure. The wish, now, makes me eager, but it doesn't touch me in quite the same way as the other things have.

Dr. Hayes is still looking at me with those expectant eyes of his. "I don't know," I answer him honestly. "I kind of just want to stay here."

He smiles at me. "Your father will be home soon, you know. I'm sure he'll have something planned."

I snort in amusement. He's probably right. Father will have had the whole day scheduled, and he'll be too busy keeping us on task to enjoy the little details. "I won't listen to him," I retort firmly. "A schedule is a waste of our time, and we don't have much of that left."

We all know I'm unlikely to come back from Pandora alive. The moon kills even the strongest and healthiest of people. I'm almost certain that I won't last a day. I haven't shared this with the others. I don't want Father to get sullen again, and I certainly don't want Dr. Hayes to feel guilty about what he's done. If I'm honest with myself, I'd rather it be this way. I prefer to be far away from home when I go, so I can't see the agony on the faces of my family as I slip away for good. I want my last sight of them to be their smiles.

Dr. Hayes, though, has guessed it. I can tell from the look on his face.

"Look…" I begin, but he interrupts.

"Don't do anything there that you wouldn't do here," he says to me in a stern, hard voice. It catches me off guard. He's acting like he thinks I'll intentionally die there. The idea is so ridiculous to me that I can't help but laugh out loud.

Dr. Hayes, however, is not laughing. I assume he's thinking of Mother and the way she broke that window fourteen years ago. But I'm not Mother, and he should know that by now.

"I won't do anything stupid," I promise him. "I'm not… not like her, you know." After all these years, I still don't like mentioning Mother's death aloud.

He nods. "I know. But it had to be said." Something in his voice lets me know Dr. Hayes doesn't like to think of her death, either.

I glance at a clock on the wall. Six. Father should be home any time now. I'm sitting on the edge of my chair in eager anticipation, expecting him to walk through the door at any moment. When five minutes pass and he still hasn't arrived, I get slightly concerned. After ten minutes, I'm almost panicked. When, at 6:15, Father bursts through the front door with his briefcase in one hand, I want to cry with relief.

Father is never late. His work day technically ends at six, but he's almost always home before that. He says it's because he gets his work done early, but I know that's a lie. I've seen him up late at night, when he thinks I'm asleep, sitting at the kitchen table as he writes furiously, his briefcase tossed carelessly to the side. I feel guilty, knowing that he leaves work early for my sake. He doesn't seem to mind it himself.

"There's my Mandi," he says warmly as he lays his briefcase aside. "Don't I get a proper greeting?" He takes a few steps closer and holds his arms open wide.

I'm up in an instant, flying down the hall like an eager child, throwing myself into his arms so that he can lift me up and twirl me, same as always. I'm small for my age, so Father doesn't have trouble. He never does.

He sets me down lightly. A smile lights across his face, but his eyes are sad. I wonder if he knows that this is most likely our last night together. "Had a good day?" he asks me. His voice is determinedly light and steady.

I give him a tight hug. "As good as it can be," I say honestly. "Alicia, from the RDA, called earlier."

"Really?" he says, but I can tell he's not surprised. He's vice-president. Not much happens in the RDA that he doesn't know about.

"Yeah. Just some final details about tomorrow."

Dr. Alicia Bradley is the RDA's head geneticist on Earth. She's been the one keeping me up-to-date on everything. How the process works, what I'll need to do there. She's even given me some basic avatar training. Not as much as the professionals have gotten, but enough so that I won't be clueless my first day.

"What sort of details?" asked Father, steering me to walk beside him to the couch, where he sat me almost forcefully beside him.

"Well," I said slowly, "they've gotten one of the avatar embryos ready to go. I can only bring one bag, the smaller the better. I should bring some clothes, but they'll have more there. And the VentureStar leaves at noon tomorrow."

There was more, but I didn't want to tell them everything. I was eighteen now. A legal adult. They didn't need to know everything anymore. Especially the part that made me more excited than ever to go.

Today on the phone, Alicia told me that my avatar wouldn't have the weakness. The chemicals didn't affect my DNA, and the DNA is what they use to clone the avatar from. I'll be as healthy as anyone else when I'm in the field.

Alicia has taken great efforts to make sure this point is drilled into my head. At our first training session last September, she told me, "A weakened body doesn't mean a weakened mind. In fact, you're probably mentally stronger than most of the scientists here."

I had looked at her with disbelief. "I don't have half the education they do," I retorted. "How is that possible?"

"You're used to hardship. Difficulties are second nature for you. If you're challenged, you know how to deal with it. They may not." She had smiled. "You may find you're the team's greatest asset."

I hadn't believed her then. Now, almost nine months later, I do.

"Okay," Father says lightly, breaking my train of thought. "That's good. You won't be stuck there without an avatar. Everything went as planned."

I nod.

He pulls out his cell phone, a tiny, almost transparent touch screen. From behind, I can see Father pulling up a task list.

"Father," I say quietly.

"So I was thinking that we could go to dinner for, say, an hour…"

"Father." Louder, this time.

"And after that, we can watch some television until, say, nine. After that…"

"Father!"

He stops, startled, and looks up from the phone. "Yes?"

"Couldn't we just… wing it?" I ask him. "No task list. No schedule. Just acting on our whims."

He's perplexed. "Why? The schedule makes it easy."

"The schedule makes it _boring_," I retort. "It confines things. I don't want to have to worry about finishing dinner by a certain time, or getting to bed at a certain time. I'm going to be spending the next _five years_ asleep," I point out, and both Father and Dr. Hayes laugh. "I'd like to not have a scheduled bedtime."

Father glances at Dr. Hayes, who says, "She's got a point."

Defeated, Father puts his phone away. "Okay, then. What do your… _whims_… tell you to do?"

I smile triumphantly. "I'll be right back."

I go to my bedroom, my bare feet padding silently on the hall's plush carpet. I enter my room and sigh with contentment not at seeing the room, but at the idea that I won't have to ever see it again after tomorrow.

My bedroom is dreary. The furniture is all antique, real wood, stained dark. The curtains are drab. The bedding is dull grey. It has the feel of being unlived in, even though I sleep here every night.

The only part of my room that I like is the bookshelf. Like everything else, it's made of dark, solid wood, but that only makes the spines of the books look brighter and more promising. I pull over a footstool and reach for the top shelf, pulling down a photo album.

It's an old photo album, filled with pictures from my childhood and before that, Mother's and Father's. I've never opened it. All I know is that Dr. Hayes put it together from pictures he found laying around the house. I hug the album close as I jump from the stool and run back to the others.

Father sees what I'm holding and looks at it with trepidation. It's clear that this was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Can we look through this?" I ask them.

Dr. Hayes smiles and beckons for me to sit by him. Father, on the other hand, says, "You two have fun. I have some last things to look over before tomorrow."

"Father." My voice is sharp, like I'm the parent.

He sighs and sits on the couch. I sit between him and Dr. Hayes and open the book.

I'm not prepared for what it contains. The first picture in it is of the three of us. By the looks of it, it was taken just after I was allowed home. Mother, though confined to the wheelchair, is smiling. In the picture, I can see why Father loved her. Her face, which I remember as gaunt and gloomy, is alight with joy. Her brown eyes, which she gave to me, are dancing, even in the photo. Father, who stands beside her, looks much younger than he does now. His expression is cheery, which I can't help but find odd, for it's so different from what I'm used to. Only I don't look much better off. I am tiny and frail-looking, my limbs and face almost alien. However, the happiness of my parents makes me look better than I truly do. As a family, we look almost _normal_, something I never anticipated ever seeing. It makes our lives now look almost more tragic.

I turn the page quickly. Father and Dr. Hayes are silent. I stumble upon pictures of Mother and Father from when they were children: a shot of Mother at age 5, sitting amongst a large pile of toys; another of a 6-year-old Father on his first day of school; yet another of him on some special occasion or another, looking adorable but uncomfortable in his child-sized suit and tie. There's picture after picture of both of them when they were both young, carefree, and delighted with life in general. I ignore the pangs in my chest as I turn the pages.

After ten minutes, we get to a picture from Mother and Father's wedding. They were standing in front of a drab altar, which is pretty much normal. Neither of them wear clothing that is particularly elaborate, but Mother's hairstyle must've taken several people a couple of hours. Every strand is either pinned or curled so that it frames her face perfectly. Once again, her beauty startles me. My memories are of her after the weakness left her emaciated and grieving. Father, too, is handsome and wide-eyed, as if delighted that Mother chose him. Based on this picture, Mother was quite a prize to win.

It's only now that the spell of silence is broken. "This doesn't bother you?" Dr. Hayes asks.

I shake my head immediately, eager to go on, only to realize he wasn't talking to me at all. His concern is all for Father. Looking at him, I'm now considering going back to his schedule.

All color has drained from Father's face. His eyes are mournful, and his mouth is set in a firm yet quivering line. His hands are clenched tightly together. Despite his obvious anxiety, he says, "Go on."

I continue turning pages as memory after memory looks up at us. The pictures are all from a happier time, before the weakness set in. I can time the pictures by the looks on our faces. It's almost surprising how quickly and drastically our moods change. On one page, we're smiling as I reach for a rattle Mother teases me with. On the next, Father and I are alone in my bedroom. His face looks strained, though mine is just as delighted as before.

And so it goes. Father- and Mother, when she's present- wear misery on their faces. Even I, as I age, look more and more melancholy. Before long, we've reached pictures that make me want to give up on the book: Mother's funeral.

Father and I both wear black, and he holds my hand in what could only have been a death grip. I'm only four, but I look lost. Like losing Mother made me forget everything I knew of myself. Father's expression mirrors mine perfectly.

I turn the page quickly to escape our haunting faces as quickly as possible.

The rest of the photo album is pretty mundane. A few pictures of birthdays or Christmases, but not much else. Almost as if the photos agree with the picture from the funeral: without Mother, our life didn't go on.

This enrages me, though I can't explain why. I wonder why Dr. Hayes put so much value on Mother's life and so little on the lives of the rest of it. Even if he says otherwise, the pictures prove him wrong. I slam the album shut, even though several pages remain. "On second thought," I say in a high-pitched voice, "why don't we turn on the tv?" Without waiting for an answer, I flee to my room with it and throw it on the shelf.

I don't leave my room again. No matter how much I hate it, it's a fortress. As long as I'm inside and the door is closed, I can expect total privacy. It feels odd to me, for a moment, that I want to avoid my family, all things considered. On the other hand, I don't want to start a conflict on my last day here. So I hide.

I eventually fall asleep on my bed, which was _not_ something I planned to do. I wake up that morning and go to the living room as quickly as I can. The clock shows that it's barely seven AM. Both Dr. Hayes and Father are still asleep. As an apology for last night, I go to the kitchen and begin to prepare our breakfast. Sure, algae isn't the most difficult food to prepare, but it's the least I can do. I realize now that I was acting like a brat.

Father wakes up next. He's still wiping sleep out of his eyes when he enters the kitchen. His eyebrows raise when he sees the algae-pancakes I've just finished cooking.

"You did this?" he asks incredulously.

I nod. "Sorry for last night."

He smiles. "Not needed. The album was difficult for all of us. Painful."

I don't bother to tell him the true reason for my reaction. Better to protect him. "Yeah," I say instead.

"So," he asks, "are you excited for today?"

Perfect. A change of subject. I become genuinely enthusiastic. "I am!"

"Packed?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what you're going to be doing there?"

I shake my head. "Whatever Dr. Augustine asks me to do, I guess."

"Don't forget, Mandi," he says to me, suddenly serious. "I know you admire Grace, but don't put too much faith in her. She's had some… problems with the planet. Just be careful. I worry that she's not quite stable."

Dr. Hayes joins us at the kitchen table. "Grace Augustine is brilliant," he says immediately. "She wrote the book on Pandoran botany. How many people could've done so as quickly as she did?"

"Grace Augustine can't handle herself on Pandora anymore. Maybe she could when she was younger. But not now," Father snaps back.

"Grace Augustine earned the trust of the Na'vi. I don't see any of your military goons doing that."

"Grace Augustine _lost_ the trust of the natives years ago, when she let that girl destroy our equipment."

This is news to me. "What are you talking about?"

Father's eyes flash angrily. "Some of Grace's students damaged some of our bulldozers, then ran back to her for protection. The natives seemed to think that our punishment was her fault. And it was," he adds spitefully. "She should've told them to avoid us. But the natives are too stupid to understand that." Father digs his fork into his pancakes with a bit more force than is entirely needed.

Dr. Hayes and I finish eating in silence. Once done, I dump my plate in the sink and retreat, once more, to my room. This time, I leave the door open, but no one comes.

Before I know it, the time has come to leave. I grab my duffel bag (a hand-me-down from Dr. Hayes) and get in the back seat of the car.

We drive to the launching site in silence. I hand my duffel off to some crew member, who puts it in a cubby. Then Father, Dr. Harper and I are left in relative privacy for our farewell.

I stare at my feet, not knowing where to begin. Father is just as awkward and silent. It's Dr. Hayes that speaks up.

"Mandi, no matter what happens after today, we're proud of you," he says. He looks at Father, as if expecting him to add something. He doesn't, so Dr. Hayes continues. "We just wanted you to find happiness. Goodness knows you deserve it." He pauses. "I'll never stop thinking about you," he murmurs. "And I'll always love you." He runs one hand through my lank auburn curls. "Take care of yourself." He pulls me into a brief hug before turning away. I can tell by his posture that he's fighting tears and failing.

Father says nothing. He just looks me over. Unlike Dr. Hayes, he isn't bothering hiding the moisture that overflows his eyes. He, too, pulls me into a hug, but he doesn't let go. He buries his face in my hair, holding me like a lifeline.

I surprise myself by returning his hug just as tightly. Father may not have always been there, but he was still my father. The only immediate family I have left. To my dismay, I discover that my cheeks are coated with salt water as well. I press my face against his t-shirt, hoping it will serve to dry my weepy eyes.

This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to leave them crying over me. I wanted them to be happy.

I shouldn't have been so foolish.

My departure wasn't a beginning for them in the way it was for me. For them, it was an ending. After I was gone, what would happen? Would Dr. Hayes still live on the cot in the living room? Would Father become obsessed with work again? Take over the RDA entirely? The apartment would feel different with only the two of them. My bedroom would be empty. Would they leave it that way? Or would someone else eventually move in and take my place?

The questions make my heart ache for my little family. "'Ohana means family,'" I murmur into Father's shirt, quoting an old children's movie. _Lilo and Stitch_. One of the few movies he'd ever taken the time to sit and watch with me. "'Family means nobody gets left behind.'"

"'Or forgotten,'" he finishes, his voice ragged. "Make me proud, Mandi."

I nod, still clinging to him.

A crew member walks over to us. "It's time to go, Miss Voclain," she says. "Please board the ship."

Father kisses my hair, and I pull away from him. I blow kisses at both of them, mouthing "I love you" as I walk away.

I board the ISV Venture Star and find an empty cot. Before the ship leaves the ground, a crew member walks over to me, strapping me in place and injecting something into my arm. "Sleep well," he says. He pushes my cot into the wall, leaving me lying in a confined space. I notice my thought process and movements beginning to slow. Cryosleep.

I force my sluggish mind to focus on Father and Dr. Hayes, remembering the warm of their touch as I begin to drift off. Father's final words to me ring in my ears as my eyelids grow heavy. They're still on my mind as I lose consciousness altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, folks! I don't know what's taken me so long, honestly… Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**From here on out, I've taken liberties with the lines in the script… simply because the fic won't work if I'm too literal. However, no major events will be changed drastically.**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

Wishing the Unknown

_Chapter 3_

"_Don't live down to expectations. Go out there and do something remarkable." ~Wendy Wasserstein_

* * *

I wake up staring at darkness. For a moment, I'm terrified that I've died without realizing it, and that I never did get to see Pandora. I relax, though, when I hear voices from outside of my compartment. I take deep, calming breaths and examine my situation further.

Thick straps wrap around my shoulders and hips, with my arms in smaller bands which are connected to wires. I can't move at all, except to turn my head, as the compartment slowly moves out into the light.

I blink rapidly several times as I attempt to adjust to the brightness. A caretaker floats over to me, unfastens the straps, and gives me a quick glance-over. His eyes are concerned as he asks me, "Are you feeling all right? We were told that you might need some extra help."

"Fine," I reply tartly, hoping that his treatment of me isn't an omen for things to come. I stare at him for several seconds before he moves on.

Truthfully, I'm sore. My joints ache, which is no wonder, considering that I've been asleep for quite a while. I feel the slightest bit nauseous, but I've had medications that made me sicker. I glance around at the others and realize that I'm lucky; most of them are acting as if they just got mugged.

I allow myself to drift over to a set of lockers, finding one emblazoned with my name. A med tech drifts past, making an announcement.

"People, you have been in cryo for five years, nine months and twenty two days. You will be hungry, you will be weak. If you feel nausea, please use the sacks provided for your convenience. The staff thanks you in advance."

I smirk as I remove my duffel from my locker as green-faced soldiers float around me. They all have the same short haircut, and they all look terribly tough. Maybe the news hasn't been exaggerating the dangers, after all. This thought excites me even more, and I drift towards a smaller clump of people. They're less physically dominating, but they seem just as ill. We're transferred to Valkyrie, and I take a seat beside a tall, thin man with light brown hair. Officials make sure we're strapped in and have us all hold an exopack on our laps, while our bags go under our seats. None of us passengers speak, and the Valkyrie begins its decent to Pandora.

After a surprisingly short amount of time, the ship levels out and lands. An official begins to yell at us, ordering us to don our exopacks. I'm the first one to have mine in place, ready to go before the official finishes telling us the risks of breathing Pandoran air. Alarm creeps through the passengers like a noxious gas, though it doesn't affect me. Why should I be scared of dying in unfiltered air here if I've lived through the same thing back home?

The Valkyrie opens up, and we file out. Our crew yells at us to move quickly, for another Valkyrie is looking to touch down behind us. I run, keeping in stride with the others, surprising myself with my own strength. As I run, I try to get a glimpse at the place. Unfortunately, I'm surrounded by people far taller than myself, and I can't see around them. Disappointed, I enter the building at Hell's Gate.

Once inside, we're told to remove our exopacks and leave them in a stack before proceeding to the security brief. Like automatons, we do exactly as we're told. I follow the group into a large room, empty except for at least 200 chairs. I take a seat in one close to the front and on the aisle to allow me to see better. I've been on Pandora for approximately five minutes, and I'm already certain that my size will put me at a disadvantage.

We wait in silence for several minutes as more and more people pour into the room. Most of them are in army gear, but a few wear simple, practical clothes. I assume the ones dressed more casually are the scientists, and I'm surprised at how small a number of them are present.

A man walks into the room, and everyone falls completely silent. My eyes widen in astonishment.

The man is tall, with chiseled muscles. He looks more like he was carved from stone than like an actual person. The side of his face is marred by three long scars, made even more prominent by his close-cropped hair. He speaks, and I can't help but shudder. "You are not in Kansas anymore," he says in a stern voice. "You are on Pandora, ladies and gentlemen. Respect that fact every second of every day. Out beyond that fence every living thing that crawls, flies or squats in the mud wants to kill you and eat your eyes for jujubees. We have an indigenous population of humanoids here called the Na'vi. They're fond of arrows dipped in a neurotoxin which can stop your heart in one minute. We operate - we live - at a constant threat condition yellow. As head of security, it's my job to keep you alive. I will not succeed… not with all of you. If you wish to survive, you need a strong mental attitude…"

By now, the room is deathly silent. I don't know what this man's goal was, but he clearly wasn't sugar-coating anything. He continues with his speech, telling us security rules and other such things, but I've tuned out. My mind is too busy trying to comprehend a poison that kills within a minute, or an environment that meant almost certain death. I glance around the room. Many of the people look as if they're going to wet themselves. Me? I say bring it on. I've looked death in the eye before. I do it every second of every day. The only difference now is the setting.

At long last, his speech finishes, and everyone gets up to leave. Soldiers head off in one direction while the scientists head off in another. I spot the guy who sat beside me on the Valkyrie, now carrying a giant duffel of his own, running to catch up with someone. From where I am, I can't see who.

I stand and watch the others, hoping for some sign of where I should go. No one pays me any mind, and soon the room is completely deserted. I shift my bag on my shoulder and leave the room slowly, standing in the doorway for several seconds. I glance in both directions and, tentatively, follow the now-distant pack of scientists.

My footsteps echo eerily in the empty halls, and I feel distinctly out of place. As I walk, I pass several labs, most of which are filled with people staring intently through microscopes or scribbling frantically on a clipboard. One smaller room holds several computers, and only one person sits in there: a young woman, probably in her late twenties, with skin the color of milk chocolate and black hair that curls wildly, as if it has a mind of its own. She's slouched in front of a screen, poking idly at the keys, humming under her breath.

It's the humming that stops me. I've heard plenty of music in movies or TV shows, but this is different. Father and Dr. Hayes aren't the type to walk around singing. Because of their example, I never so much as whistled a tune while going about my business. But this woman is humming as if it's no big deal.

I remain in the doorway for several minutes before she looks up from her work. A smile brightens her face. "So," she says to me, her voice a sweet alto, "you must be the Voclain girl."

My face must betray my surprise, and she laughs. "How'd you know?" I ask in a whisper.

"Well," she replies, "you're tiny, pale, and about ten years younger than the people who usually come through here." She walks over to me and holds out her hand. "I'm Noa Amato."

I take her hand and give it a firm shake. She's taller than me, but not by much. I look her directly in the eye and return her smile. "You were right," I tell her, "I'm Mandi."

"Nice to have you here," Noa says. She sounds like she truly means it. "If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask. I may not have the most prestigious job here, but I've been on Pandora for almost three years now."

I nod.

"One moment," she says to me. She goes back over to her computer, leaning over it. Her fingers fly over the keyboard as she adds a final touch to her work. "Well, you should probably head over to the main lab," she says once she's done. "Max is gonna want to meet you." She gestures for me to follow her through a door on the other side of the room. It swings open when Noa scans an ID card. I eye it longingly. She follows my gaze. "You probably won't get one," she tells me honestly. "Dr. Augustine isn't fond of people coming in and messing up her work." I want to protest, to tell her that I won't do anything, but I see something that wipes the thought from my mind.

The room we have just entered is dark and empty of most typical lab equipment. In fact, the room's purpose seems to be holding three large, cylindrical tanks. The two closest to Noa and I contain a pair of male avatars. One looks like the man from the Valkyrie; the other is unfamiliar. It's the third tank, however, that pulls at me like a magnet.

Inside floats a third avatar, this one small and thin and female. She has a heart-shaped face and long, dark hair. Her ears, like those of any other avatars, are pointed and feline. Her nose looks almost too small for her face. Even when closed, her eyes are large, reminding me of pictures of bush babies or owls. She twitches in her tank, as if sleeping.

I'm captivated. It's like I'm looking at a cat-like version of myself, only taller and bluer. The avatar hypnotizes me, and nothing else matters. I realize that _this_ is what I could be if I had been healthy. I could've been this lean, athletic being that floats in front of my nose, close yet still unattainable. Someone taps my shoulder and I start. I have no idea how long I've been staring at the tank.

"Amazing, isn't it?" says Noa from behind me. "That's your avatar. You should be able to take it out tomorrow." There was a note of envy in her words. "Come on, let's introduce you to the others."

Noa leads me through the room quickly, weaving through people as they work. She eventually makes it over to yet another cluster of computers. Three people are there. One is in a wheelchair, speaking into a camera, saying something about how the avatars work. The other two are bent over another computer, focused on something that I can't see from my angle.

The man in the wheelchair turns around and asks, "Is this right? I just say whatever I want into the videolog?"

The taller of the other two speaks, and I recognize him instantly as the man who sat beside me on the Valkyrie. "Yeah, you need to get in the habit of documenting everything."

As he continues to talk, Noa taps the third guy on the shoulder, and he turns to her. He's South Asian, with dark curly hair and glasses. "Yes, Noa?"

"Max, this is Mandi Voclain," she says, her hands on my shoulders as I stand beside her.

"The Wishing Star girl," Max says, moving away from the computer. "Thank goodness you found her, then. I was getting worried."

This annoys me, but I'm not sure why. It's not like he's trying to be rude or insulting. In fact, he seems more like he was genuinely concerned. But it makes me feel like a small child, or some sort of pet, and I don't appreciate it. Besides, it's not my fault I wasn't fully informed. "If I'd been told where I was to go, I would've been here sooner," I retort, my voice surprising me with its power.

The other two turn and look at me as sparks practically shoot out of my eyes. The tall one smiles. "You sat next to me on the Valkyrie, didn't you?" he asks.

I nod, amazed that he remembered me.

"Norm Spellman," he says, extending his hand for me to shake. "Anthropologist and avatar driver."

I shake his hand. "Mandi Voclain," I say with a smile. My bony hand grips his firmly.

"They told us about you in our last day of training. Said you'd have an avatar of your own. Guess that means we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Max sighs heavily. "Well, that depends," he says. "Grace is very particular about how her excursions are run. Speaking of which," he adds, checking his watch, "time for you to meet your new boss." He gestures for us to follow him, and we do.

Max leads, with Norm following right behind. The man in the wheelchair- whose name I still don't know- is beside Norm, and Noa and I bring up the rear. We enter the lab itself, a large space crammed with typical lab equipment on one side and large machines- which I recognize as being used to link to avatars- on the other. The halves are separated by a raised circle that houses several computers. Max takes us over to the links, one of which has just opened. As we walk, Norm explains who Grace Augustine is. As if anyone could not know. Max follows Norm's description with, "That's because she likes plants better than people."

Before anything more can be said, a tall, red-haired woman of about fifty stands before us. She's puffing on a cigarette as she stares us all down, her expression a mix of determination and annoyance.

Max begins to say something, but I'm not really paying attention. One could stay that I'm star-struck as I stare at the woman who I've admired for years.

Dr. Grace Augustine is talking to Norm in rapid Na'vi, and I'm amazed to find that I _understand_ them. Those guides of Father's were clearly more helpful than I expected.

"Not bad. You still sound a little formal," she says to Norm.

He replies with, "There is still much to learn."

I roll my eyes and say to him, in Na'vi as well, "Maybe if you talked like a person instead of a textbook, you would sound less pretentious."

The pair turns to me. Norm's expression is nothing short of astonishment. Grace's is more careful as she looks me over. Even so, it's perfectly clear that I've impressed her.

Max takes this silence to interrupt. "Grace, this is Jake Sully."

She turns to the man in the wheelchair, and I'm relieved to now know his name. Angry words are exchanged between the two, and Grace leaves in a huff, but I'm not paying attention to any of that. It doesn't seem to be of any importance what she thinks of anyone else. All that matters to me at that instant is that I've somehow managed to impress Dr. Grace Augustine.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: College needs to stop taking up my time with silly things like homework. I blame it for my lack of update time.**

**A warning: next month is November, which means NaNoWriMo. As much as I'd like to update again before December, I don't know how likely that is. So this may be your last update for more than a month (granted, I haven't been very good about updating frequently, but you should still know).**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

**PS: Happy Halloween, one and all!**

Wishing the Unknown

_Chapter 4_

"_Resignation is the timid sign of courage." ~Anonymous_

* * *

"Mandi?"

Noa's voice brings me back to reality. I remember that there are other people in the room, and I blush. I must've been making quite an interesting facial expression, judging by the looks I see on the faces of the others. "Sorry," I mutter.

Noa smiles and takes my arm. "No worries," she tells me. "You're going to need to start with the videologs, but we swore to Hannah that she could see you first."

I frown in confusion. Hannah is a new name to me. I don't know what to think of it, but Noa sounds the slightest bit sympathetic, as if I'm going to face something bad. I immediately become nervous.

"Don't worry about it," Noa assures me as she leads me out of the room and through the halls. She walks briskly, and I jog to keep up. In no time at all, we've climbed a set of stairs and reached a sterile-looking white door. I understand immediately: a doctor's office. Hannah must be their doctor. Now it makes sense that I must see Hannah first.

Noa opens the door for me and lets me in. It is, indeed, a doctor's office, but a small one. It's nothing like the hospitals I've done time in. It's small and quaint, with a single bed and a few pieces of simple equipment. A door on the far wall leads elsewhere. My immediate reaction is that the office is not nearly well-enough equipped. But I realize that I am, after all, on Pandora. I'm sure that plenty of injuries have been dealt with here. The thought sends a shiver down my spine as I wonder how many people have died in this room.

The silence is broken by someone walking through the door. I know immediately that this is certainly not Hannah for one reason: he's a young man.

When I say young, I truly mean young. He doesn't look much older than I do, but he walks towards Noa and me with a surprising air of certainty. No matter his age, he very clearly belongs here.

I glance at Noa, hoping she'll introduce me. Instead, she looks confused.

"May I help you?" the boy asks. He speaks with authority, as if he's the one in charge.

"Yes, actually," she replies, sounding as puzzled as she looks. "Who are you?"

He holds out his hand for her to shake. "Dr. Alex Corcoran. Just arrived earlier today."

I'm so astonished by his title of "Doctor" that I fail to realize that he must've been on the same ship I was. Noa, too, looks awestruck as she takes his hand and shakes it. He turns to me and gives me the tiniest of smiles. This throws me off even further. I had been counting on this Dr. Corcoran to be all business, but he doesn't seem that way.

"You're Mandi Voclain, aren't you?" he asks me, offering me a handshake.

I shake his hand and nod silently, still trying to figure him out.

"Hannah just had something quick to take care of," he says. "If you'll take a seat on the bed, I can start the examination."

I do as I'm told. He pulls on a pair of gloves and proceeds to do the usual doctor-y thing: examine my eyes and ears, takes my temperature, checks my blood pressure. As he does so, I can't help but notice that he's, well, kind of cute. His hair is a dark brown, and his sleek bangs constantly fall in front of his bright green eyes. He tosses them aside with a movement I can only describe as instinctual. Unlike other doctors I've seen (other than Dr. Hayes), he doesn't attempt to make small talk as he examines me. His attention is focused entirely on the task at hand.

As he slides his stethoscope under my shirt to listen to my heartbeat, I can't help but blush and pray that my results aren't skewed at all. Fortunately, as this is happening, the back door opens again. This time, a woman enters. She looks to be in her mid-thirties. She's tall, with honey-blonde hair that was thrown into a ponytail. Behind her thin, metal glasses, her eyes are an unforgiving brown. _This_, I realize instantly, is Hannah. Noa's sympathy now makes a good deal more sense. Upon hearing the door open, Dr. Corcoran drops his stethoscope and stands upright beside me.

"Hannah, this is Man-"

"Yes, yes, I know about Miss Voclain," she says briskly. She surveys me with those dark eyes of hers, as if I am some sort of semi-delicious food item in a lunch buffet and she can't decide whether I should be eaten or not. "Dr. Sokoloff," she says by way of introduction, and she picks up where Dr. Corcoran had left off. "Heartbeat seems rapid," she murmurs as she listens. This time, I am certain that my bird-like pulse is from fear rather than attraction. "Inhale slowly," she instructs me, and I obey. She continues with her examination, her energy completely focused. I try to force myself to relax, but Dr. Sokoloff makes me far too nervous.

Now that he isn't working, Dr. Corcoran is all friendly smiles and pleasant, if awkward, conversation. "Don't worry about her," he says to me, obviously noticing my discomfort. "You can always request to see me instead."

Unsure how to take his comment, I laugh it off. If that was an attempt at flirtation, it was a rather strange one. "I'll keep that in mind," I say to him.

"You should," he replies. "I've only just met her, and I'm already pretty sure that she's a right pain in the-"

"Alex, if you value your life, you will not finish that sentence," says Dr. Sokoloff tartly. She takes the stethoscope out of her ears and grabs a thick wooden popsicle stick. "Say ah," she says, using it to flatten my tongue and examine my throat. "Vital signs appear normal," she says. "You didn't have any problems waking up from cryo? No excessive weakness, debilitating dizziness, loss of memory?"

"No," I answer.

"Really?" says Dr. Corcoran, sounding surprised. "Because I did."

Once again, I have no idea what to think of him. "Oh," I say. What a charmer I am.

"You should be all right for now," says Dr. Sokoloff, who has chosen to ignore him. "I'll want to see you at least once a day, preferably immediately after you leave your link. Is that clear?"

I nod.

"Good," she says. "You may go now. I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Still silent, I stand and walk over to Noa. As we head out of the room, I hear Dr. Corcoran quietly say to Dr. Sokoloff, "She doesn't look like she's dying."

She replies, simply, "No. She doesn't."

The door closes behind Noa and I, leaving us standing outside and alone.

"Well," she says cheerfully. "Now that that's done, we can start you with your video log."

* * *

I'm seated in front of a screen, a small camera aimed at my face. My instructions are simple: just talk into the camera, tell it what I've been doing and how I feel about it. So why does this feel so weird?

After about 10 minutes, Noa walks by my desk. I haven't done anything. I've been staring at the computer, waiting for something, _maybe_, to inspire me to speak. But I can't get past the awkwardness.

She walks over to me, having noticed that I'm sitting with my head in my hands. I don't notice her, though, until she puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Something wrong?" she asks me. There's genuine concern in her voice.

I shrug and look up at her. "What's the point?" I ask. "I'm not going to be making any important discoveries. No one's going to watch these."

Noa looks at me for several long minutes. "If you want them sent back… after you're…"

"Gone," I say as she falters. She stares at me, as if amazed with my comfort with the situation. "Why shouldn't I talk about it openly? I'm not going to be around much longer. We all know it. Hiding it or ignoring it doesn't help anybody."

She nods and continues. "They can be sent back, though. Just… think of them as letters. You're writing letters to home. Does that help?"

I smile and nod. It helps more than she could possibly realize. She gives my shoulder a squeeze and departs.

I turn to the screen and flick on the camera. I see my face on the screen, my auburn hair in loose waves, my eyes looking almost sunken into my gaunt face. I'm a mess. I give a nervous laugh and begin.

"Well, here I am," I say. "Pandora. We thought I'd never get here, but here I am. I miss you guys already. For you, it's been six years, but I've only been awake for a couple of hours. Everyone- well, almost everyone- has been really nice to me. I seem to have gotten Dr. Augustine's attention, and I think in a good way." At the memory of it, a happy glow overwhelms me for a moment. When it subsides, I think through my day in an attempt to find something more to say. "Not much has happened here yet. I've met a few people. There's Norm and Jake, two other avatar drivers. The doctor here isn't nearly as nice as you, Dr. Hayes, but she'll do. And there's Noa. She's one of the techs or something. She's probably the nicest person I've met yet. She showed me my avatar." I pause and try to remember the exact feeling of seeing it. In an almost religious murmur, I continue, "It's… the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Like it's out of a dream. It looks like me, but healthier, stronger. Looking at it, I can almost believe…" I take a deep breath. "I can almost believe that everything's all right. That I might get to see you both one last time. Like I can get back from here alive. But we know that isn't the case." By now, my eyes are dangerously moist. "I want you to know I never stopped loving you, and I never will. I hope these logs will give you some solace when I'm gone."

I turn off the camera and flop onto the desk, burying my face in my arms. I finally release the tears. I feel as if I've been holding them in for years. First for Father, then for Dr. Hayes, then for all the scientists and Wishing Star employees. I've been the strong one for so long, it's almost strange to give in to sorrow.

Almost.

I hear footsteps behind me. They pause for a moment before continuing onward. They must have realized I'll need a moment alone. Unable to let this go unrecognized, I choke out a muffled "Thank you."

They probably don't hear me. I don't care. It's the thought that counts.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, guess who won NaNoWriMo? Yep, me. About three months ago. I should have posted sooner than this. I'm terribly sorry. I'll cut this note short and let you read.**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

Wishing the Unkown

_Chapter 5_

"_The size of your success is measured by the strength of your desire; the size of your dream; and how you handle disappointment along the way." ~Robert Kiyosaki

* * *

_

The next morning, Noa seats herself on the edge of my bunk within five minutes of my waking up. "You're heading out at noon," she says to me simply. I glance at my clock and gulp. It's already almost half past eleven.

I fall into a minor panic. "Why didn't someone wake me up?" I wail, using my hands to push myself into a standing position. I run to a small dresser across from my bed. The drawers are labeled with names, and I find the drawer with "Mandi Voclain," etched on it.

"We didn't want to disturb your sleep," she says honestly. "Everyone's worried about you."

"I'm not going to drop dead from being woken up on time!" I say with an exasperated laugh. I pull a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of the drawer before slamming it closed. The clothes aren't anything special, but that doesn't bother me; I've never really cared about fashion anyway. There's never been a point. "I'm not that delicate!"

Noa smiles at me a bit sadly. "Maybe not," she admits, "but that didn't stop people from worrying."

With Noa still sitting there, I change quickly into the clothes. I throw my hair into a quick ponytail with a rubber band and sigh in a satisfied manner. "All right," I say cheerfully, "shall we?"

She raises her eyebrows, clearly impressed by my speed, and leads me out of the door and straight to the link room. It's relatively empty right now, much to my surprise. Only one person stands in there: a man probably ten years older than Father. This man's face is tan and wrinkled ever so slightly. His coarse, black hair is peppered with grey. Despite the fact that he is tall and heavy-set, he has a kindly demeanor about him. I find that I like him instantly.

"Mandi, meet our resident geologist, Dr. Luis Espinosa," Noa says, smiling at the man.

"So you're Miss Mandi Voclain," he says to me with a grin. His voice is a deep, reassuring bass. "I've heard good things about you."

I stare at him for a few seconds, puzzled. "You have?" I say stupidly. As soon as the words escape my lips, I scold myself for being unable to just take a compliment.

Luis, however, doesn't seem to mind. "Grace says your Na'vi is very impressive, especially for your age." I can tell from his tone that "age" was not the phrasing that Dr. Augustine had used. "She assigned you to work with me." Noticing that I am once again confused, he elaborates. "Grace and I used to go out into the field together; she'd study her plants and I'd study the rocks. She was in charge of interacting with any of the natives that came by. Not that many ever did," he added. "The point is, she's going to be with Spellman and Sully now, and I don't know a word of Na'vi. You've been given the job of interpreter for me."

I stare at him, unsure whether to feel honored by the fact that I've been given such a potentially important job or angry that Dr. Augustine may have praised me only to send me off to work with someone else. I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that I won't be working with her. On the other hand, based on her treatment of Jake Sully yesterday, I'm not sure she'd be a good person for me to work with, considering how unqualified I am to be a part of the Avatar Program in the first place. After all, I haven't had any formal schooling. Ever. Everything I've learned was taught to me within the comforts of my own home, mainly because Father didn't trust the cleanliness of the schools or the knowledge of the teachers.

Watching Luis wait for me to reply, I decide that my placement with him was a good thing. "Sounds good," I say as cheerfully as I can.

"Well," he says, obviously pleased by my response, "let's get started then." He gestures at one of the link beds, and my jaw literally drops with astonishment.

"You mean, now?" I ask.

"Yes," he says with a laugh.

"Right now? We're linking up with our avatars right now? We're going out there now?" I manage to spit the words out despite the overexcitement that makes me speak far too quickly.

"Yes." Smiling broadly, he opens the lid of one of the links. "This is your link bed," he says, gesturing for me to come closer. I do so. "Link eight. We'll meet here every day at this time." He glances at his watch. I peer over and read it: 11:52. "Well, eight minutes from now. There's not much point heading out without the techs here."

Noa takes this as a cue. "I'll go get them," she says quickly, and she leaves.

Luis looks at me expectantly. I'm too busy trying to wrap my brain around the situation to respond. In less than ten minutes, I'll be linked up to _my own avatar_. I don't dare to believe that it's true. As I stand in awestruck silence, scientists dressed in lab coats begin to start up various machines around the room. Before I can entirely comprehend what exactly is going on, Luis is telling me to lay down in the link and let my mind go blank. I do as he says in a happy daze. Only when he lowers the top half of the link unit do I slip out of my dizzy delight. With the lid covering me and no room to move, I feel as if I have been nailed into a coffin. But the fear passes and I allow myself to relax.

I feel as if I'm drifting to sleep. However, just before I fall completely asleep, I hear a few unfamiliar voices saying my name.

My eyes open slowly, the heavy lids working far harder than usual. For a moment, I feel panicked. I blink a few times and the world comes into focus. I exhale, relieved.

A pair of techs stands over me, their faces covered by exopacks. One of them snaps his fingers on either side of my head, and my ears instinctively turn towards the sound.

The scientists mumble something that I can't quite hear; I still feel slightly groggy. They lean over me, concern etched on their faces. Finally, my brain manages to comprehend what they're asking: "How are you feeling, Mandi?"

I try to force my lips to form words, but all that comes out of my mouth is a strange groan. I take a deep breath, focus, and manage a single word answer. "Okay," I say. I blink once again, slowly, and try to elaborate. "Issa little bit weird, isn' it?" I mumble.

"It gets easier," says one of the techs, a pale brunette. "Can you try to move each of your hands for me?"  
I take a deep breath, focus, and wiggle the fingers on both my right and left hands. I feel a smile creep ever so slowly across my face as I raise my hands to where I can see them. My blue, delicate hands wave at the techs before I put them back down on the gurney.

"Good," says the brunette. "Now same with your feet."

I wiggle my toes, raising one foot and then the other.

The techs continue to talk me through everything. I sit up, touch my thumb to each of my fingers, wag my tufted tail, and complete several other mundane tasks while sitting on the gurney. The techs were right. It _did_ get easier. In fact, I'd never been able to move so effortlessly in my life. There were no tremors or quivers that shouldn't be there, no sudden pains, nothing. It was strange how simple it all was.

Now that they are certain that I have control of my avatar, they give me one final task: to stand up.

Sounds simple, doesn't it? You just put both feet on the ground, put all of your weight on them, and stand up. It's never been that way for me. I've always needed the help of my arms to get on my feet. Walking wasn't hard once I was standing up, but getting up was one of the most difficult tasks for me.

Not this time. This time, my legs do all the work, lifting me to a standing position. Fully upright, I see that I am, in my avatar, a good three feet taller than the techs. I laugh, and they smile up at me. I take a few tiny, cautious steps.

"That's good," says the brunette, disconnecting the leads from my body. "That's good."

* * *

A few minutes later, I've changed from the hospital gown I woke up in into a pair of khaki shorts and a plain brown t-shirt. My hair- including the long braid that the Na'vi are so famous for- is pulled back out of my face. I don't particularly like the look of it (my eyes look even more prominent than usual), but I decide not to change it. No one out there is going to care what I look like. When I'm declared ready, the airlock door opens, and I step out into the Pandoran sunlight.

My eyes adjust to the brightness quickly, and I walk slowly forward. My jaw hangs open in astonishment. This is my first view of the outdoors without a pane of glass separating me from it all. I had never realized how much I'd been missing. The wind blows in my face. It tickles and is pleasantly cooling. The air here smells heavenly, all flowers and fruits and other sweet scents that I have no name for.

I walk through the compound, past people playing basketball and running an obstacle course. I reach a small area that I can only describe as a garden, thouh the plants are nothing like the ones I'm used to seeing on the television at home. Those plants are towering giants. But here, in the compound, grow bushes that bear a strange, blue fruit. I reach out and touch one, startled by the prickly texture of it. I am about to pluck it off of the bush when I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around to face another avatar.

He towers over me by at least two feet, making me feel small and meek. However, his face breaks out into a friendly smile that makes me recognize him in an instant.

"Dr. Espinosa!" I gasp as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.

"Sorry, did I startle you?" he asks playfully. "Sorry about that." He looks me over, and I stand straight and tall. "You seem to be adapting just fine. I knew you would."

His faith in me takes me completely off guard. "You did?"

"Yes," he says simply. "You adapted well enough to Hell's Gate, and if you can do that, linking with an avatar shouldn't be difficult at all. Still," he adds, casting a glance at the plant behind me, "I wouldn't go plucking mysterious fruits when we're in the jungle tomorrow. Some of the plants defend themselves in nasty ways."

I nod. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says. "How will you learn if you don't ever try?"

We spend the rest of the day doing just that: trying things. He takes me through the obstacle course, making me run it again and again. I happily discover that my avatar's endurance is infinitely better than that of my human body; it takes me seven attempts at the course to feel even the slightest bit tired. I'm sure that my human body- if given the same obstacle course proportionate to its size- would only make it once. Halfway. When it starts to get dark, we head into the log house, where we lay down in beds and fall asleep.

Again, I'm almost asleep when I become aware of my surroundings once more. My eyelids flutter open, I hear a mechanical door opening, and I find myself in my human body once more, staring at the ceiling of the link room. I sigh heavily and force myself into a sitting position, unable to help but feel the slightest bit disappointed.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Short chapter, sorry. Not to sound pushy or anything, but reviews make me smile every time. Hint, hint.**

**Any quote that is entirely bold is spoken in Na'vi. Single Na'vi words are italicized with a glossary at the end of the chapter.**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

Wishing the Unkown

_Chapter 6  
_

"_Life has a certain flavor for those who have fought and risked all that the sheltered and protected can never experience." ~John Stuart Mill

* * *

_

Day two. I wake up ridiculously early this time; I don't want a repeat of yesterday. No rushing around this morning. I dress, putting little to no thought into what I wear. I'm about to head to breakfast when I run into someone who is, naturally, taller than me. I look up and blush. "Sorry, Dr. Corcoran," I say breathlessly.

He looks down at me, tossing his hair out of his eyes, startling me once again with their brilliance. "Alex," he corrects me. "I'd be careful when going up to your exam today. Hannah's not happy with you."

"Right," I reply, not really taking in what he just said. "Hannah."

He clearly notices that my attention isn't on his words. "Yes. Hannah. The one who you're supposed to see _before_ heading out every day."

Only then does it hit me. _Hannah_. As in Dr. Sokoloff. As in, the person who everyone treated with reverent fear. I feel the blood drain from my face. "I-I-I… I just thought… I mean, I woke up so late yesterday…"

Alex chuckles, patting my shoulder in a reassuring way. "You'll be fine. Head up there with me after breakfast. Hopefully I can diffuse her wrath."

My jaw drops open ever so slightly. "Okay."

He holds out his arm for me to take. "Shall we?"

I take it, blushing furiously, and he escorts me to the cafeteria.

We eat quickly. I barely taste my food as I gulp it down. The chatter around me is full of technical terms I barely understand, so I don't feel bad leaving the table as soon as I've finished.

Even though he's only half done with his food, Alex rises from the table and follows me out of the room and up the stairs. He grabs my arm, stopping me as I reach to open the door of Hannah's domain.

"Wait thirty seconds before coming in here," he hisses. He opens the door and slips in before I can. I scowl at the door and count to thirty before I shove the door open. A half-formed scolding dies on my lips as I see that Alex is speaking animatedly to Hannah.

"See, right on time! Told you she'd be right up!" he says with very fake enthusiasm. I glance at Hannah and see instantly that she isn't buying his act.

"Where were you yesterday?" she snaps.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, my eyes wandering to the floor. "I woke up late and didn't want to be late on my first day."

"So you missed your meeting with me? What if you hadn't been physically capable of linking? What if it killed you?"

And there it is. Someone here had to say it. Make me fear what I know is coming. I look directly at Hannah, eyes narrowed. "Well, then, I guess I would be dead," I reply frankly. "Who would've seen that coming?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something change in Alex's expression. I pay it no mind.

Hannah's scowl softens. "Is that really what you thought?" I could hear the unspoken question: _Are you _trying_ to end this as soon as possible?_

"To be honest," I reply, "I didn't think about it at all. My only thought was getting to work on time."

Without another word on the subject, Hannah sits me down on the table and begins her exam.

* * *

"So you're going to catalogue the types of samples we've taken as well as their location."

We're in the Pandoran jungle, stepping over tangles of roots on the forest floor. It's been five minutes since I linked up to my avatar for the second time and Dr. Espinosa has already given me a job. I find that I'm not annoyed about this; I'm glad that he trusts me enough to give me a task to do.

He stops at a seemingly random spot. "Don't wander too far," he says as he opens his pack and begins his work.

I quickly learn two things about Dr. Luis Espinosa. 1) He keeps very clear records all on his own, leaving me with nothing to do. 2) He doesn't pay any attention to anything other than his work. When a group of prolemuris swung by, making all kinds of noise and causing me to shriek, he didn't even hesitate in what he's doing. After sitting a yard away from him for about an hour, I get impatient and wander away a bit. Not far enough that I would get lost. Just so that I would have something new to look at other than the same group of trees and maybe a lizard or two.

I find my way quickly to a small clearing in the trees. The plants grow and make this place a sort of fort, blocking out a lot of the light from the sides and from above. One of the trees has several low hanging branches that just beg to be climbed. Tree climbing isn't something I've ever done, but how hard can it be? I put my foot on the lowest branch, grab a higher limb with my hands, and hoist myself up… only to discover that I'm not alone in this particular tree.

My companion is a small Na'vi boy, maybe three years old. "_Kewong_!" he screams, his voice shrill. I'm sure he's alerted the entire jungle to my presence. He clambers surprisingly quickly up the tree, pausing to hiss at me.

Another Na'vi descends from the top of the tree. This one is a girl of about twelve who joins the toddler on his branch and pulls him into her arms, whispering something in his ear that I can't hear.

Staring at the pair, I pull myself into a sitting position on a nearby branch. As I do so, the tree's leaves rustle. The girl glares at me as soon as the sound is heard, nothing short of hatred in her eyes.

"Can't you stay with your own kind?" she sneers in broken English.

I blink several times in astonishment. "I- What?"

"We do not need you here. Go back to your own world." There is so much malice in her voice that I wonder if she's older than she looks. No child should speak with so much malevolence in her voice.

"I don't understand…"

The girl's ears go back and her eyes narrow. The boy hisses at me once more. "**You Skypeople are why Teyo is dead!**" he snarls in Na'vi.

For some reason, his comment soothes me. These two have suffered at the hands of humans. How else should I expect them to react?

"**Atuki…**" the girl says, clearly exasperated. "**Don't tell her more than she needs to know.**"

"**But Alyara…**" he whines.

I want to ask them more, but before I can open my mouth, Alyara signals for Atuki to get on her back. He does so, holding on tightly, and she scampers easily through the branches and out of sight.

I watch them go, my eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. A thousand questions form in my mind, questions that I am not sure it's proper to ask. I wonder who this "Teyo" was and what caused his/her death. More importantly, I wonder what a pair of Na'vi children was doing alone in the jungle. From what I've always heard, the Na'vi are protective of their kids and barely let them out of their sight. What were these two doing out here unsupervised?

I remain in the tree for a few more moments before I hear Dr. Espinosa call my name. I swing off of my perch and head back over to him.

* * *

**Kewong- Alien**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Wow. This took me forever. I am ashamed. Especially since it was sitting, mostly written, saved on my computer literally all summer. I am sorry. If anyone is still reading this and they haven't given up on me, well, then, mad props to you.**

**The titles of books mentioned in this chapter aren't of my invention. They're real, and they're among my favorites. If you haven't read them yet, fix that.**

**Any quote that is entirely bold is spoken in Na'vi. Single Na'vi words are italicized with a glossary at the end of the chapter. Kind of made up the word for story-teller; just go with it.**

**THIMBLES! And on with the fic…  
Saran VD**

Wishing the Unkown

_Chapter 7_

"_Stories can conquer fear, you know. They can make the heart bigger." ~Ben Okri_

* * *

The next day is uneventful, almost boring, but my third day ends up a little more exciting.

As soon as we're linked to our avatars, Dr. Espinosa tells me that we need to go to the old school house to pick up more supplies. "We use it for storage now," he says to me as he sets off into the jungle with hardly one glance back to make sure I'm following.

I walk briskly behind him, pushing the branches out of my face. I've heard of the school from Father. He told me that it closed because the Na'vi simply stopped showing up. "They have no interest in learning about us," he had said angrily. "They only want to fight with us." Somehow, I know that I haven't heard the full story of the school, and I look forward to seeing the place for myself.

It's nothing like I expected: a small wooden shack, overrun by vines that crawl up the walls. Dr. Espinosa leads me into the schoolhouse. I look up at the ceiling and see stingbats. Upon becoming aware of our presence, the strange purple creatures chatter amongst themselves and spread their wings, as if trying to appear threatening. I smile slightly and turn my attention to the walls of the schoolhouse. That's when I notice the bookshelf that stands on one wall. I'm drawn towards it, as if it has some sort of magnetic pull. I walk over to it, investigating its contents. Nothing of great length, but they're all _books_. Made with real paper, with real pages. Such a thing is rare on Earth; we use tablets that contain an entire library on a tiny memory chip. I've never seen a real book in my entire life. Hypnotized, I reach up and grab one of them off of the shelf. _The Lorax_. Before I have the chance to read it, Dr. Espinosa has gathered the supplies he needs. I look at him, disappointment plain on my face. He chuckles. "Bring it with, then. Just be careful. And put it in my pack when you're done."

I nod and hug the book close to my chest as we leave the schoolhouse.

Dr. Espinosa and I arrive at our usual spot. I leave him quicker than usual today and head to the clearing I found a day previously. I've made it a habit of climbing the tree I found the first day; it makes a comfortable perch while I wait for the day to end. I hoist myself into its branches and open the book carefully. The story is written as a poem, in a lyrical way that begs to be read aloud. So I begin to read it to myself, saying the words under my breath, smiling at the rhymes and made up words.

When I'm about halfway through the story, I hear a rustle in the branches above me. I look up to see a pair of children on a limb above my own- the same pair from two days ago. They're leaning over, staring at the book, and the girl is translating the words into Na'vi for her brother. As soon as they notice that I've stopped reading, they scowl as if I was something distasteful. Smiling to myself, I close the book. "**Sorry to disturb you**," I say to them. "**I'll find a different tree.**"

They look at each other, eyes wide. "**You don't have to, I guess,**" says the girl grudgingly.

"**Finish the story!**" whines the boy.

I chuckle and open the book once again and continue from where I left off, reading louder this time. "' I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.  
I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues.  
And I´m asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs'-  
he was very upset as he shouted and puffed-  
'What´s that THING you´ve made out of my Truffula tuft?'"

As I read, the girl translates, and I make sure to hold the book so that they can see the pictures. When the story is finished, I close the book and look up at them.

The boy smiles softly. "_Irayo_," he says to me.

The girl, however, looks as angry as she did the other day. Somehow, though, I know the anger isn't entirely directed at me this time. "**We should never have come here,**" she says to her brother. "**Now she can hurt us the way all the Skypeople seem to do. They get close to you and shoot when your back is turned.**" There's real pain in her eyes as she says this.

"**But I like her! She tells good stories!**" he whines.

"**She still can't be trusted. She's one of them.**" She crouches on the branch. "**Come on, Atuki. Let's go.**"

He shakes his head. "**No.**" He swings himself down to sit next to me on my branch. "**Tell it again.**" His young voice is commanding, and I smile at the adorable attempt at authority.

"**But it's in English,**" I point out.

"**Tell!**"

Obediently, I open the book and start at the beginning. "What was the Lorax? And why was it there?"

As I read the story, the girl sighs and grumbles under her breath. Atuki, however, is listening intently as I read. I doubt that he understands a word, but he looks at the pictures and seems to enjoy the rhythm of the prose. By the time I've finished, he's snuggled up against my arm and leaning over to better see the pages.

"**Okay, Atuki**," says his sister. "**You've heard it again. Time to go.**"

"**No.**"

"**Atuki…**"

"**No, Alyara! No!**" He shoves himself closer to me. "**More story.**"

I look at his plaintive face, then up at Alyara, who looks about ready to murder me if that's what it takes to get her brother away from me.

"**Not now,**" I tell him softly. "**But I'll be here tomorrow.**"

He pouts for a minute until he realizes what I've said. "**Okay**," he says, his face brightening. "**Tomorrow.**"

Alyara reaches her hand towards him, and he takes it. She pulls him back up to her branch, shoots a death glare at me, and leads him through the trees and out of sight.

I watch them go with the smallest of smiles. After a couple minutes, I lower myself from the tree and rejoin Dr. Espinosa. He's too absorbed in his work to notice. I sit around with the book until it's time for us to head in for the night.

At dinner, I sit beside Noa, who has continued to be friendly towards me. I begin to tell her about Alyara and Atuki, but my thoughts are interrupted by Grace's voice, which carries down the table. She's animatedly telling a story, and it takes me a few moments to realize she's talking about the wheelchair-bound avatar driver, Jake. I can't hear the details of what she's saying from where I am, but I hear the word "thanator" used several times. My happiness fades a bit; whatever excitement I felt today with the kids was clearly nothing compared to whatever adventure Jake got into. I frown ever so slightly.

Noa notices my dejection. "Hey," she says softly, sounding genuinely concerned. "Something wrong?"

"No," I reply, because I'm honestly not sure why I'm getting upset. What Jake is doing doesn't matter to me. But I still get a nagging feeling thinking about it. Jealousy? "It's just been a long day." The perfect answer: vague, but it usually satisfies the questioner. Without another word to Noa, I get up from the table and head to bed early.

* * *

The next day, I climb my tree, _The Lorax_ clutched in my arms, and wait for Atuki and Alyara to show up. I figure that it's only a matter of time before they arrive.

I'm right; after barely five minutes, I hear Atuki's brassy voice call out, "_Vurpengyu!_"

It takes me a moment to realize that Atuki is referring to me. _Story-teller. _I smile and look at the bough above me, where he sits with Alyara. He waves cheerfully at me, and I wave back. He giggles, as if it's the most exciting thing in the world. Alyara rolls her eyes a bit, but she doesn't look nearly as angry as she did the day before. Comparatively speaking, she's positively cheerful.

Atuki snuggles next to his sister on the branch, looking at me expectantly.

I hold up _The Lorax_. "**This is all that I have**," I tell him.

Atuki pouts. "**But you know other stories, don't you?**" he asks sadly.

I bite my lip thoughtfully. I certainly know more stories, but I don't know if I want to tell them. There's no way I could do a book like _The Tale of Despereaux _justice, and even if I could, there would be a lot of things to explain to the children about human culture. I'm fairly certain that the only reason that _The Lorax_ interested them as much as it did was that it was really timeless. There wasn't much said in it that was Earth-specific. But books that I've read, like _The Hunger Games_ or _Harry Potter_? Those would take a lot of explanation for Atuki and Alyara to understand them.

I haven't said anything for several minutes, so Alyara says, in a smug little voice, "**What, run out of ideas? Some storyteller.**"

My eyebrows furrow. She's goading me, and I know I shouldn't rise to her challenge, but the words escape before I can stop them. "**I have my own stories to tell.**"

Alyara leans against the trunk of the tree, holding Atuki on her lap. The two children look down at me. Atuki looks positively ecstatic, while his sister looks very pleased with herself.

I fumble frantically, hoping to make something up as I go along. "**Once upon a time**," I start, "**there was a man and a woman. They…**" I pause to think. "**They desperately wanted to have a baby. They prayed and hoped, and finally, the woman learned that she was carrying a baby in her belly. The man and woman were very happy. They learned that their baby would be a little girl. But one day, a few months before the baby was ready to be born, the woman got into an accident.**" There are two gasps from the tree above me, and only then do I fully realize what I'm doing. I should stop while I'm ahead. I don't need to pour out my soul to these kids. "**The baby was born early, and both the woman and the baby were sick.**" Well, maybe I do. There's something therapeutic about saying this out loud. I look up and, seeing the worry on the faces of Alyara and Atuki, I add. "**They got better, for a little while at least. But they had to be very careful, because they got sick very easily. They lived on Earth, and the air is dangerous for people to breathe because it is very dirty. The woman and the girl wore special masks that gave them clean air, and the air in their house was safe. But one day, four years after the girl was born, the**-" I pause, inhaling deeply. Atuki and Alyara don't need to know that my mother basically killed herself. I decide to lie a little. "**The window to their house broke, letting the poisonous Earth air in.**"

Atuki gasps. "**Then what? They didn't die, did they?**" He sounds genuinely scared.

Alyara hugs him close to her, looking down at me. There's something in her expression that I haven't seen on her face before. Pity? I can't be sure. "**Finish the story,**" she orders me softly.

I nod. "**The little girl got her special mask on before she got sick from the air, but the woman wasn't so lucky. She got sick again, and she died.**" My voice breaks at the end of the sentence, and once again I wonder if I should stop.

"**No!**" says Atuki sadly. "**The little girl needs her **_**sa'nu**_**! What happened to the girl?**"

"**Yeah,**" Alyara agrees, speaking very softly. "**And does she have a name?**"

I nod. "**Mandi. The girl's name was Mandi.**" I don't bother to make up a name; if I'm going to bare my soul to them, I might as well go all the way with it. "**Mandi grew up, but she still got sick very easily. For her seventeenth birthday, she was given the chance to go to Pandora. Mandi had always wanted to go there, so she accepted. She had to train for more than a year, but she did eventually make it to Pandora, where she had many adventures. But that's a tale for another time.**" I look up at them. Atuki looks so forlorn that I want to scoop him up in my arms and hug him, but Alyara's expression is trickier.

"**Thank you for the story**," Atuki says sadly. "**I hope that Mandi is happy now.**"

I smile at him. "**She is**," I assure him.

Before anyone else has the chance to speak, I hear Dr. Espinosa call for me. "Mandi! Come over here! I need your help!"

Alyara's eyes pop wide open, and she whispers my name under her breath.

"**I'll see you two tomorrow,**" I assure them, and I swing out of the tree and onto the ground. "Coming!" I call to Dr. Espinosa, and I run over to him.

Dr. Espinosa leads me back to base camp, his work done for the day, and I find myself meditating on Alyara's facial expression, for it seems to be imprinted in my brain. She'd put it all together; I know she had. So what is she going to say to me tomorrow? The thought nags at me even as I lie down in my cot and end the link.

Back in my human body, it's hard to hide the fact that my mind is stuck in another world. Noa, in particular, seems almost offended when it takes me at least ten seconds to register that she's speaking to me over dinner. Once again, I tell her, "It's been a long day," and excuse myself from the table.

It's hard for me to sleep. I do eventually manage to shut my eyes, but my dreams are plagued with visions of crashing vehicles and hospital rooms and an emaciated woman with brown eyes and red hair sitting in a wheelchair as she throws a vase through a window.

I wake up early, shivering. I manage to get dressed, but I'm still cold, so I wrap myself in a blanket and head down for breakfast. When I get to the cafeteria, I consider going back to bed for a moment because I am in no shape to handle the situation that is before me.

Only one person sits at a table in the cafeteria: Dr. Grace Augustine. I stand just outside the doorway, staring at her as she reads some notes or something. There is no way that I can deal with this; I don't want her to see me after five hours of sleep with red eyes and a blanket wrapped around me like I'm some sort of child. I impressed her my first day. No way am I going to impress her now. As quietly as I can, I get some food and sit at the end of her table, far away from her eyes that I'm sure are just waiting to judge what I'm doing wrong. Dr. Augustine glances at me once, in a strange sidelong way, and almost smiles. Am I endearing or cute or amusing or am I just humiliating myself by sitting here and staring at my knees and not saying a word to her? It's all so confusing and I have no idea what to do and I am about to open my mouth and say something just to have some course of action to take when Noa enters and saves me from certain mortification.

"Good morning," she says to me as she sits down with her tray of food. Several others enter as she sits down, and the usual low hum of voices finally starts up. Noa's eyes are fixed on my face, and I know that she's hoping for a better explanation of my attitude yesterday.

I suppose I owe her that much. "I think I'm in over my head," I tell her.

Noa smiles a bit. "I doubt that," she assures me. "According to Luis, you have been doing well, especially considering your lack of training."

I sigh. "Yes, but, I'm supposed to be translator for him, but I have no idea how to act around the Na'vi. Not even Alyara and Atuki."

Her smile turns into a puzzled frown. "Who?"

"The kids. I started telling you about them yesterday."

"Oh, right. What do you mean, you have no idea how to act around them? They're no different than human kids, are they?"

The words burst out of my mouth before I have time to think. "I've never _been_ around human kids!"

Noa blinks at me several times. "Never? Not even kids your own age?"

I'm slightly irked by the fact that she just called me a kid, but I ignore my annoyance. "Father and Dr. Hayes were worried I'd get too sick. That they'd get me sick. And I don't have any brothers or sisters."

She stares at me thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Then, I guess, just be sensitive. Kids are upset more easily than adults. Don't tell them anything overly emotional."

Alyara's surprised expression pops into my head again, and I think to myself, _Well, it's too late for that one._ For a fleeting instant, I fear that I've scared her and her brother away for good.

When I finally link up with my avatar and head to Dr. Espinosa's spot, I don't stop walking until I've reached my tree. I swing myself onto my usual branch and look up. I sigh in relief as I see Alyara sitting a couple branches ahead of me. Sure, her brother's not there, but at least I haven't scared her off.

She stares at me with those intense golden eyes of hers, as if unsure of whether or not to speak. I stare back, smiling slightly at her, trying to seem warm and inviting. _I didn't mean to scare you and your brother off_, I want to tell her, but I can't get the courage.

The girl lowers herself down the boughs of the tree until she's seated beside me. She folds her hands in her lap, and suddenly they are the most interesting thing in the world to her. Ever so softly, she asks me, "**_Vurpengyu_, may I tell you a story?**"

Letting out a sigh of relief, I whisper, "**Of course.**"

Alyara takes a deep breath. "**Once upon a time,**" she begins, "**there were three siblings. One, the oldest, was brave. The second, the sister, was clever, and she wanted to be just like her big brother. The third, the baby, loved his older siblings more than anything in the world, except for their parents.**

"**The oldest and the sister went to school, where they learned about humans. How to talk like humans, what humans acted like… The sister loved the school. She loved learning things and getting smarter. But the oldest brother was different. School made him angry, and one day, he and his friends stopped coming. They didn't go back to school for a long time. When they did come back, it wasn't the same. The sister saw them all arrive through the school's window. They were wearing war paint on their faces, and they were screaming that they'd destroyed the tree-killing human monsters. The sister stood up and ran to the window just in time to see humans use their fire shooters to blow holes in her brother. He was dead before he hit the ground.**" Alyara is still staring at her hands, but there are tears in her eyes. "**The sister ran away from the school as fast as she could, but not before she saw that all of her brother's friends had been killed and that her teacher had been shot. When the sister got home from school, she had to tell her mother and father that the oldest brother was dead. She never went back to school again. She never got anywhere near humans again.**" The tears are still there, streaming down her cheeks, but there's a new hardness in her voice.

I hesitate for an instant before placing my hand on hers. "**I'm… I'm sorry.**"

Alyara looks me in the eye, and I can see years of pain in her expression. "So why am I here with you now?" she asks me in her thickly accented English.

I shrug, and answer her, "Your guess is as good as mine." I give her hand a squeeze.

Her focus goes back to her hands. "You humans cause nothing but trouble. But you are here and you are not causing trouble. My brother cannot wait to talk to you again. He wants to hear another story about Mandi." She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "He has not figured out that the story is about you, that it is real. What are you going to tell him?"

I shrug. "I'll think of something. I am a _vurpengyu_."

Alyara scoots a little bit closer to me. "Is it all true? About your mother and your father and you being sick? About wanting to come here?" I nod, and she asks me, "Why?"

"Sorry?"

"Why do you want to come here? It is dangerous and The People do not like humans very much and all that is happening is that trees and plants and animals are dying so the humans can dig really deep holes in the ground."

I laugh softly. "If you think this is bad, you wouldn't last one second on Earth."

"The human planet? Why not?"

So I tell her. I tell her how there are too many people in too little space, how the air is toxic for even healthy people to breathe so air purifying masks have turned into some sort of fashion statement. I tell her about the smog that obscures the skies, the flavorless algae that is our main food source, the lack of greenery or wild animals or anything that makes Pandora so special. I find myself pointing out the simple beauties that abound on Pandora but are impossible to find on Earth, like flies buzzing around our heads or the sound of wind blowing through the leaves. Even the tree we're sitting on would never be found outside of a special, controlled environment on Earth. Alyara is an attentive listener, and I'm sorry that I have to end when Dr. Espinosa calls my name.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I ask Alyara as I rise from the tree branch and head toward the ground.

"Yes. Good-night, _Vurpengyu_ Mandi."

I smile at Alyara and find myself blowing her a kiss. "Until we meet again, Miss Alyara." I descend from the tree, and the branches hide her face from my view. As I head in for the night, I can't help but wonder if Noa was right. Maybe I'm not in over my head, after all.

* * *

**_Irayo-_ Thank you_  
_**

**_Vurpengyu-_ Storyteller (This is the one I made up using a method that actually made sense to me but is too complicated to explain.)**


End file.
